My Writing

It was a time of flight.

I used to define flight as a time when I had one foot in the seen world and the other in the unseen world.

But recalling this time I think that it would be better defined as having both feet in the unseen world, while still being in this world.

This flight was most profound.  So much so, that for the two years that it went on, I never needed my reading glasses to see.

I thought, at the time, that this was an indication that I had received a healing to my eyes.

But, no.  Over the years that followed the flight, my eyes gradually went back to being “normal.”

My first miracle was when I touched the hand of a woman born deaf, and she was healed.

And now I was beginning work on my second.

When it was time, I followed the instructions of God and went to a chapel inside a hospital.  It took a bit to find the hospital God was directing me to.  But I did, and I found the chapel.  It was different from other hospital chapels I had prayed in because it still had a cross on an altar.

I sat down in one of the chairs.

I was to pray “my” prayer for the ashes of a person to come back together and back to life.

Tell Lazarus, arise.

I had little understanding of this prayer or process.  It was the first time in my life that I had sat before God and felt like I was praying complete nonsense.

I don’t question the work of Jesus in the Bible.  But for me, to sit there, and for many hours pray out into the universe the prayer that I was given felt pointless.

I’m not Jesus.

And there was no Lazarus in my life.

But, still, I sat there and prayed.  There were no kneelers in the chapel, so I remained in the chair.

And I prayed.

Lazarus, arise.

I pictured ashes rising up and reforming into a living body.

I don’t know how quite to describe it, but when I am “in the flow” of a prayer, it feels as though my body has the chills.  I tremble all over my body ever so slightly.

After a few hours of praying, the trembling began.

And I “chilled” like this for a few hours more.

At one point, a young man came into the chapel to pray.  And he must have felt something in me because I remember him bowing to me, or genuflecting, or doing something that showed his respect for me.

Then he sat behind me and prayed.

After a time, he left, and I prayed into the night.

One great advantage of a hospital chapel is that it never closes.

Then, right there and then, I felt a strong trembling going up my spine.  I sat up straight in the chair, and my spine tingled for a while.  It was more than a tingling, but I don’t know the word for it.

I knew the prayer had come to an end.

I said, Amen, for the last time, and went home.

At the time, I was studying Christian education at seminary.  In the morning there was a Mass celebrated in the chapel at the seminary.

I came in and slid into my usual seat.  Exhausted.

During the announcements, the priest told us about a report that was in the newspaper that morning.

A man, a policeman, I think, who had had his spine severed woke up with his spine completely healed and reconnected.

I listened and wondered.  Then went on with my day.



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